Wide Awake
by Kateniss
Summary: Plagued by insomnia and loneliness after his release from Stockton, Jax Teller finds himself at a crossroads in his life and in his club. A split-second decision to hold the door open for a pretty girl with a sad smile at a deserted gas station sends them both down a life-altering path neither one ever saw coming. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N-So, I've been holding on to this for about 3 months, but haven't posted it because I wanted to focus on "Carry You Home". Don't worry, Jax and Isabelle aren't going anywhere, but...with tomorrow being my last day of school, I decided to reward myself and you guys (for being so incredibly patient with me over these few months with CYH) by finally posting this today. Once school is over, I'll be stress-free and drama-free and will have lots of time to dedicate to both stories. This one was actually been floating around in my head since last year and it's too fun for me to ignore any longer. **

**Anyways, I know this is a pretty long first chapter, but I wanted to really set-up where both Jax and my new OC are at. Both are pretty damaged right now and they need each other. They just don't know it yet ;)**

* * *

_Tuesday, 2:17 am_

Cool, brisk breeze whipped around the sides of his head, calming and irritating him at the same time. The open road had long been a source of soothing, almost trance-like calm for Jackson Teller and tonight was really no exception. With nothing but cracked concrete underneath him and clear, starry sky above him, he had every reason to feel at ease and secure in the freedom the open road afforded him. Fourteen and a half months ago, he might've been able to grasp that feeling, that independence without guilt, remorse, or simmering discontent.

Now, bitterness threatened to permeate the one thing that had never failed him. In the dead silence of this dark highway, the voices that whispered during the day screamed at night. He was only torturing himself by going on these nightly rides, but tossing and turning in his bed wasn't exactly an ideal alternative. And tossing and turning in his dorm at the clubhouse was even less appealing.

In the two weeks since his release from Stockton, nothing was the way he'd left it. The first time he'd set foot in his house again after his stint in prison, he'd told himself it would only be for a few moments to change. Just get in and get out, so he could get back to the clubhouse where everyone that mattered, his son and his mother included, was waiting for him.

Even though he'd known Tara had fled both their home and Charming before his cell bars even closed behind him, the shock of coming home to an empty house had knocked the wind out of him. Fourteen months was more than enough time to come to terms with their relationship's demise and it wasn't like he could fault her for wanting to get as far away from Charming, and him, as possible. But, he'd still trudged the hallway of his own home like a zombie, unable to believe that this was what had happened to his life.

And now, two weeks later, the house still just felt so barren, so lifeless without anyone to share it with...and maybe it wasn't so much Tara that he missed. It was just the knowledge that there was someone waiting for him at home, someone looking forward to seeing him, to talking to him, to sleeping in the same bed as him at night and waking up with him in the morning. That was a void that Abel, as much as Jax loved him, would never be able to fill. He just missed being with _somebody_ and that wasn't the same as the plethora of croweaters lined up outside his dorm at the clubhouse.

That connection, that intimacy was glaringly absent from his existence now. Other than the joy of making up for lost time with his two-year-old son brought him, there wasn't much that excited him anymore. It was as if he was on autopilot, gliding through the motions robotically to keep up appearances within the club, and after two weeks of this bullshit, he'd just about hit his breaking point. Insomnia was just a natural by-product of his current mental and physical state.

"_It's only been two weeks," _his mother had told him earlier that morning after zeroing in on his sleep-deprived form clutching a coffee cup like his life depended on it. "_You can't expect shit to just fall back into place automatically. These things take time, baby, and you'll adjust. You always do. You just need to focus on Abel, focus on the club, and everything else will work itself out."_

If only that shit was actually true, his life would be a hell of a lot easier. Somewhere deep down, he knew that everything wasn't just going to fall back into place this time. While club members were always in and out of Stockton, and it wasn't like this most recent tenure was his first time at the rodeo, so to speak, it had been, however, the most lengthy. Every day that passed while he was inside had only sent him teetering even further towards the edge of oblivion.

The truth was, despite the fact that he would never dare voice these thoughts out loud, that for all his entitlement, for all his swagger in years past, Jackson Teller had started to doubt Samcro.

Those seeds of doubt had first taken root with the senseless murder of his best friend's wife. Donna Winston was one of the strongest, resilient, and most loyal women he'd ever met in his life and he'd be lying to himself if he said that he hadn't always been a little bit jealous of Ope. Not necessarily because he was with Donna, but more so what their relationship represented: stability, loyalty, love, devotion. All things he'd never quite found with Tara either of the times they'd been together.

Samcro had taken all that stability, loyalty, love, and devotion and sent a bullet right through it. So when Jax watched his best friend cradle his dead wife's bloodied head in his lap, broken and devastated with grief, something had broken in Jax too.

Opie had had every reason to abandon the club the minute Clay and Tig's grave error came to light. No one would've blamed him if he'd walked away from the club and everything it represented. Part of Jax had always wondered why Opie hadn't packed up his two kids and lit out of town right then and there. How could Opie even look Clay and Tig in the eyes without strangling them, let alone sit at the Redwood with them?

They'd needlessly murdered his innocent wife in cold blood, all because they'd fallen for the tricks of a resourceful and manipulative ATF agent. Nothing about that sat well with him, especially because Clay had lied right to his face about Opie's safety. Never in a million years would he have guessed that Samcro's president and his step-father would've mistakenly murdered his best friend's wife instead.

Even though Opie's steadfast dedication to the only life he'd ever known had adverted his own lingering doubts about the club, fourteen months in prison had left him with nothing but time. Ruminating in a damp concrete prison cell had left him no choice. He'd had to confront these feelings about his club that were just simmering beneath the surface.

They were too persistent to push away completely and every questionable decision, every needless danger, every senseless death flashed through his mind on auto-loop. But confronting these doubts had gotten him no closer to resolving his feelings about the club. Not to mention the fact that the club's long-standing beef with the Russians had earned him a shanking right in the ribs and almost cost him his life. The prison doctors had called his recovery a miracle, telling him he was lucky to be alive, but by the time he reached the halfway mark of his sentence, he wasn't so sure he agreed with them.

The retaliation he'd gotten at Ope and Lyla's wedding two weeks ago should've been enough of a jolt to wake him up-that shoving his knife into that Russian's chest would somehow exorcise the demons that had shadowed him out of Stockton. Taking one more life for the club, even if it was for himself too, had done nothing but make him feel even worse. Killing had never given him the thrill it seemed to give some of his brothers, particularly Tig and Clay, and even if it was justified in this world, the outlaw moral code was beginning to lose its relevance.

So the club was being governed by a blood-thirsty, greedy dictator. So the club and it's involvement in illegal gun-running had taken away fourteen months of time he could've spent with his son and would never get back. So Clay was, selfishly, already discussing an endgame for himself and his mother by aligning the club with the Mexican cartel. What in the hell was he supposed to do about it?

As current VP of Samcro, he'd inherit the gavel the second Clay ran off with his cartel pay-out and Gemma in tow, leaving the new Pres to pick up the pieces. Dealing with connections to the cartel wasn't something he was interested in and it definitely wasn't in the best interest of the club, at least not long term. Clay wasn't doing anything but benefiting himself and setting the club up for years at the mercy of the cartel. In reality, they weren't really gaining anything, at least not in his eyes.

Sure, the immediate pay-out would be hefty just on its own, but the weight of that pay-out would hover around their shoulders for the rest of their lives, if they didn't all end up back in Stockton. The kind of deal Clay was making, the kind that required them to mule more pounds of cocaine and heroin than anyone should have any right to know what to do with, was exactly the kind of deal that carried a life sentence if they got caught.

None of the options available to him were appealing. He could roll over, let Clay take care of business, reap the benefits for a short time, and then spend the rest of his life, for however long it lasted, dealing with the shit Clay left in his wake. Or, this deal could go south and he'd be back in Stockton before his old prison uniform came back from the cleaners. Or, this deal could go south and he'd wind up with a bullet in the head. Or, he could hope for the best, wait out this cartel deal, and then cut his losses and run. He wasn't so sure he had the will to follow through with any of those, especially the last one. And if he was being completely honest with himself, he wasn't so sure how much left he had to give the club either.

So, here he was as he rolled his Dyna up to a stop sign just on the outskirts of Charming. Deadlocked on an impasse. Nowhere to turn and no way out. The road ahead would lead him straight back to where he came from, right back to another sleepless night of tossing and turning and brooding fruitlessly over things he didn't know how to change. To his left sat a brightly lit, albeit deserted, gas station.

As his Dyna idled at the makeshift intersection, his eyes drifted back to the gas station. He really didn't want to go home yet and he really didn't want to have to face what yet another day was going to bring. A flash of headlights breezed past him and his weary eyes squinted at the tinted windows as the shiny sedan sped down the highway. If he didn't know any better, he could've sworn the sedan slowed down the second it went by him, but he quickly shook himself out of it.

Sleep deprivation was really starting to fuck with his head.

His eyes flicked to the road that would lead him back to Charming. A beat later, his eyes flitted back to the gas station and then his mind was made up. On reflex, he steered his bike into the empty parking lot and flipped the stand down so he could swing his leg over the side. Standing on solid concrete felt oddly reassuring and he abruptly dug into his back pocket to retrieve his cigarettes. Once a much-needed hit of nicotine flooded through him, his right hand twitched anxiously at his side as his left flicked some spent ash onto the concrete.

There was something about the silence here that agitated him. If anything, it was almost worse than the quiet he'd found on the open road tonight. The silence here in this parking lot was nearly deafening and only really served to remind him yet again how alone he was. With one cigarette already nothing but glowing ash, he flicked the cherry out of his sight, before ducking his head to light another one.

Contemplating sitting down on the cement curb by his bike, Jax quickly shook his head. For some reason, he could feel himself stalling to go inside. What exactly was he waiting for? It wasn't like anyone was here wanting his parking spot or that this 24-hour gas station was going to close anytime soon. Just as he was rearing up to toss his caution and his cigarette into the wind, he instinctively froze when a black Corolla pulled into the parking lot, heading straight for the nearest gas pump.

_Old habits die hard_, he mused as he took another pull from his cigarette, exhaling tendrils of smoke through his nostrils. _Once an outlaw, always an outlaw. _

Two weeks on the outside and he was already jumping the gun, so to speak, at strange cars pulling into parking lots and staring them down suspiciously as they drove past. His fingers in his right hand itched at his side, knowing exactly where his Glock was in case he needed it, but when the driver parked a mere thirty feet away from him came into clearer view, those instincts fell by the wayside to give way to instincts of a different kind. Ones he hadn't felt stirring in a very long time.

From his vantage point, all he could do was watch helplessly and slack-jawed as the driver of the slightly aged Corolla stepped outside. Dressed in skintight, black leggings and an oversized grey sweatshirt that dipped dangerously low on one shoulder, the girl standing just out of his reach was unassumingly beautiful. Judging by the messy top-knot, as well as the rest of her attire, this girl didn't seem to know that, even from a slight distance, she was one of the most arresting women he'd laid eyes on in a long time.

But now, with the evidence glancing back at him warily, it was clear his previous assumptions about her weren't accurate. She wasn't a girl. No...with her feminine curves, all in the right places, lush, full lips, and wide, doe-like eyes, this was a woman. Not a figment of his imagination. And definitely not a stand-in for the real thing.

Hell, it'd been way too long since he'd even laid eyes on a real woman-sometimes, he'd wondered if he'd forgotten what one looked like, given that his only interaction with the opposite sex in the last two weeks had been with croweaters, his mother, and Opie's second wife, Lyla.

As his hungry eyes continued to drink her in, Jax was suddenly aware that the woman's eyes kept shifting towards him, then away from him, and then back towards him again with slightly agitated, if not anxious, motions. Glancing down at his attire with raised eyebrows, he could see why she might have cause to be nervous. A tattooed biker wearing very visible colors at...he dug into his back pocket for his prepay and glanced at the time...at 2:42 in the morning would be enough to make a woman, all alone like she was, nervous and agitated.

Then he narrowed his eyes in her direction, not missing the way she chewed on the side of her bottom lip. What in the hell was she doing here at 2:42 in the morning anyways? Why wasn't she curled up in bed with her vanilla boyfriend before her alarm went off for her 9-5 job? Well, he knew he was making a few assumptions here, but instinct and a natural concern for this woman, who had captivated him from the moment she stepped out onto the concrete, won over.

Unable to pull his eyes away from her, he watched her put the gas pump back and tighten up the cap, still glancing every few moments back at him. When her lips curved up in a barely visible, hesitant smile, Jax felt his chest stutter for a few beats and marvelled at the feeling. How long had it been since anything, other than his son, had made him feel even remotely like this? Loneliness, combined with a severe deprivation of genuine female company, had completely warped his brain, but right now, he couldn't give a shit.

Like a breath of fresh air, he was suddenly reminded of who he'd used to be, the cool confidence he'd once had, and the swagger he'd once carried in his walk. And now he remembered the effect he'd always known he had on women. Seeing that subtle curve of her lips had just snapped some lost piece of him right back into place and that simple reaction made him decide to try something he hadn't done in awhile: he grinned right back at a beautiful woman.

Her lips curved up yet again and she bit down shyly on her bottom lip, quickly averting her eyes back down to the concrete. As she shuffled towards the gas station's main entrance, his feet practically tripped over themselves to match her stride. Running a hand over his buzzed hair, he immediately tossed the remainder of his cigarette onto the narrow sidewalk in an effort to beat her to the door.

When her steps slowed ever so slightly, he echoed her gait and shoved his hands in his front pockets, letting a slow, lazy grin spread across his features. Her eyes brightened and as she neared, he still couldn't quite tell whether her eyes were green or blue. As her pace quickened back up again, Jax sped up one last time, smirking at her over his shoulder as his hand shot out to pull the heavy glass door open before she could reach it.

Swinging it open with an exaggerated flourish, he waved an arm out in front of him playfully. "After you."

Finally getting to see her up close was almost too much. The problem was his senses didn't really know where to focus first: her apple-round cheeks, her light caramel-colored hair flipped up in a messy knot, the way she blew her bangs out of her eyes, which only made him focus intently on her plump lips. But in that split-second fate allowed him, everything else fell away and all he could zero in on were her arresting aquamarine eyes. Not quite blue, but not exactly green either, they practically seemed to jump out at him-just bright enough to make him wonder if this was all some sort of dream, if he was really here, or if he'd jerk awake to find himself alone yet again.

"Thanks," she exhaled, her voice low and breathy, as if she was struggling to catch her breath. The huskiness there caught him off guard and it took him a moment to recover.

But the way her lips curved up into her face now gave him pause. There was something in those aquamarine eyes and in those curved lips that he recognized, a flash of something a lot like sadness that made him wonder if the reason she was here at this gas station in the middle of the night wasn't that far off from his own.

Something that made him fall right into step behind her, just far enough away so she didn't think he was a creeper, but just close enough that he could get a sharp inhale of...something sweet and fresh at the same time. How was that even possible?

His lips curved up in yet another grin and he'd long since lost count of the number of times he'd smiled since first laying eyes on this girl, this woman, with the sad smile, who smelled like chocolate and lemons.

_Well_, he thought, _this night just got a helluva lot more interesting_.

* * *

_Tuesday, 2:10 am_

Emma Foster switched off her TV and tossed the remote back onto the coffee table with a sigh. Her eyes drifted upwards where her cat, who was perched lazily across the edge of her couch, watched her warily.

"I know what you're thinking," she informed him matter-of-factly. "So don't look at me like that. I'm bored as shit over here, Oliver, and now, I'm not saying it's your fault. You're fine right where you are, buddy. But, I gotta get up and move around...do something, you know?"

She paused for added dramatic flair and was met with nothing but an impassive blink.

"Well, you'd think you would be happy with this little development," she prodded on easily, reaching out towards him with her left hand. One tiny white paw stretched leisurely towards her to meet her halfway and Emma smiled when she felt his paw flex lovingly against her fingers. "Love you, too, buddy. Besides, you're always used to being alone at this time of night anyway, right? So I can't imagine you're gonna miss me all that much if I take a drive..."

After getting one long, slow blink in return, she chuckled before prying herself off the couch, with Oliver springing down next to her. He followed her all the into the kitchen, weaving in and out of her legs as she walked, almost tripping her in the process, and his little snippy mews told her everything she needed to know: the boy was hungry.

Once he was satisfied with the little scoop of food he received, Emma knew now was the best time to sneak out of her apartment without feeling too guilty. Anytime she walked out the door, Oliver always stared back at her with an almost stunned, pleading look in his grey eyes that broke her heart every single time. Avoiding that look at all costs was always her end goal whenever she left and she was lucky she'd managed to get out the door while he was still preoccupied.

As she trudged out to her little black Corolla, which had definitely seen better days, a rueful smile twisted her lips and she shook her head. It was crazy how different her life had looked six months ago, before her entire life had crashed and burned right before her eyes. There was no preparing yourself for the complete upheaval of everything you'd ever known and if someone had told her a year ago that not only would she be working the graveyard shift in her grandma's restaurant in some obscure town in Northern California, living with a stray cat who technically wasn't allowed in her apartment, but the reasons _why _she'd find herself in a such a position, she wouldn't have known whether to laugh or cry.

Life had a funny way of taking the carefully laid plans she'd set out for herself and completely smashing those plans to pieces.

Not wanting to ruminate any further on the reasonings behind her exile from her once-cozy life in Del Mar to this newer, bleaker one in Charming, Emma steered her way through the vacated streets as aimlessly as every other time she found herself out late at night. On any given night at this time, she'd normally be slaving away in the restaurant's kitchen, preparing for the next day's customers, but Gram had forced her to take a few days off, a 'mini-vacation' as she'd called it.

"Mini-vacation my ass," Emma grumbled under her breath and fiddled with the volume dial on her radio.

All this 'mini-vacation' had done was create one more reminder of her current pathetic existence. Hell, her entire life at the moment revolved around caring for the stray cat who'd moved himself into her apartment and mindlessly watching Netflix until she passed out on the couch, if she passed out at all. Sleep had become something of an enigma in the last six months or so, partially due to the shifts she worked now. Before moving to Charming, she'd been used to getting her ass to bed by ten at the latest on school nights, but now that issue was pretty much obsolete. Now, after her usual shift, she was lucky if her ass was in bed by five in the morning.

So, it really shouldn't have been any surprise to her that time off wouldn't exactly shift her body's internal clock. These last two nights she'd had off had been the worst in recent memory-alone time was the exact opposite of what she needed right now. No...she needed to keep busy and she needed to get lost in..._something_. That was why working the graveyard shift at the restaurant, coupled with her extra late hours preparing the pies for the next day, was a good fit right now and the perfect distraction to make the ghosts trailing behind her disappear for awhile. But this time off, however miniscule it might be, hadn't been the much needed rest Gram was hoping for.

Besides, a person can only take so many episodes of _It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia_, _Orange is the New Black_, and _The Office_. She was lucky restlessness was all she'd gotten these last few days.

As the dimly lit streets of Charming rolled past her, Emma anxiously tapped the steering wheel, trying to decide whether or not to veer left or right. Left would take her out of town. Right would lead her into a circle, putting her directly on the path back to the apartment. Her all-too-alert eyes shifted warily to the digital clock on her dash and a despondent sigh echoed through her car. 2:37. Jesus Christ. It was still mind-boggling to her that she was even awake, let alone functioning at this hour of the night.

"This is my life now," she informed the silence currently keeping her company, save for the low hum of the radio. "Six months later and you'd think I would've gotten used to it by now. Not like talking to myself...and a cat...really helps matters all that much, so…"

She trailed off, tapping her fingers lightly to the song that had just started on the radio. Music had long been a source of comfort to her and tonight was really no exception. Whenever she needed to clear her head, or just needed a distraction in general, music had always been there to pick up the pieces, lulling through any pain, any heartache, and anything that ailed her. Whether it was a sad country song or a catchy pop song, the beats never failed to either cure her emotions or enhance them. It was the only form of therapy she could ever agree to and the only thing keeping her sane, in light of recent life-shattering events.

And in light of those recent events, she'd needed music more than ever.

"Can't believe you're really gone," she sang along. "Don't feel like going home, so I'm gonna set right here on the edge of this pier and watch the sunset disappear…"

This song, in particular, seemed to sum up the melancholy and the loneliness she felt and in that split second later, her decision was made. Turning a sharp left, she headed towards the outskirts of Charming with no real plan in sight, but that was sort of okay. Because like the lyrics to the song reflecting her current mood said, she just didn't feel like going home yet. So when a gas station appeared on the right side of the road, she figured she might as well stop in. Kill some time. Get some gas. Buy some junk food. Hopefully once all was said and done, she'd have expended enough energy to justify finally going back home and falling into a dreamless sleep.

A girl could hope.

As she veered the Corolla into the driveway, her eyes immediately locked in on the lone figure standing next to a motorcycle near the gas station's entrance. Clad in a leather vest that looked vaguely familiar, white T-shirt, and jeans, the man just a mere thirty feet away from where she sat was a sight for sore eyes. Devastatingly handsome, even from the short distance, buzzed light hair, a little stubble visible on his cheeks and that was about all she needed to see to know that all proper mental functionings had vacated.

She sat there for a few awkward moments, biting down on her bottom lip, and briefly contemplated hitting reverse to get herself the hell out of there. The leather-clad Greek god was watching her now and her hands shook around the steering wheel in response.

It had to be a fucking crime to be that chiseled, that perfect-looking, and just be standing next to a gas station in the middle of the night like it was no big deal. He glanced at her again and she fought back the urge to duck down into the passenger's seat. Well, Jesus Christ, now she had to do _something. _The unbelievably hot biker guy, who had no right to be that hot, was _still _watching, scratch that, staring at her, and the absolute last thing she wanted to do tonight was humiliate herself in front of the most attractive man she'd ever laid eyes on.

_Deep breath,_ she told herself. _Act like he's a creeper. Right...who are you kidding? If that's what a creeper looks like, then sign me up. He must have a fucking waiting list._

So with a deep breath and a grasp at strength, she pushed the car door open as he pulled a phone from his back pocket and flipped it open. Good, he was preoccupied now and he could stop-oh shit, just as quickly as the distraction came, it went when he shoved it back into his back pocket and glanced over at her again.

She couldn't stop the hesitant way her lips curved up at him; it was just a natural, almost knee-jerk reaction to the heart-attack inducing man staring back at her. And when his lips curved upwards in response, that heart-attack nearly became a reality. The sharp stutter that vibrated through her chest could've easily knocked her sideways. There were no negative thoughts nagging at her about the leather vest he wore or his obvious method of transportation or the ink she'd spotted on his arm. If anything, all those things combined just made him ooze confidence, swagger, and a masculinity that he wore like a second skin.

Like the curveball life had thrown at her earlier this year, she had no idea how to handle the situation she currently found herself in. The man that inexplicably stared back at her was different than any other man she'd ever gotten close enough to oogle like this before. Different than he-who-shall-not-be-named and different, than, well just about anyone she'd known in Del Mar. While she'd seen guys riding around on motorcycles with leather vests on before since she'd moved to Charming, she was positive she would've remembered seeing him before. That was a face any woman, and some men, would never be able to forget.

Now that her gas tank was full, she knew she had no choice but to walk past him so she could go inside and pay. While this thought completely terrified her, it also oddly thrilled her. How many times in her life would she be able to have this kind of interaction, this kind of connection, however fleeting, with someone like him?

With that newfound courage, she gripped her wallet firmly in one hand and after putting the gas pump back where it belonged, headed out toward an unknown she'd previously eluded in her life. Much to her shock and embarrassing delight, he abruptly tossed aside the cigarette he'd been puffing and started heading towards the front entrance too, matching her stride for stride.

That momentary shock halted her gait.

_Don't trip, don't trip, don't trip, _she chanted to herself.

Even as her eyes struggled to figure out where to lay their focus, she nearly laughed out loud when he slowed down too. As she picked up the pace again, he matched the motion and a smile broke out across her face, surprising herself at the flirtatious, almost giddy turn her emotions had taken. Talk about a stark contrast to where she'd been only minutes before pulling into this gas station.

The roguish way his lips turned up made her heart stutter yet again in her chest-Jesus, they hadn't even exchanged a word and it still felt like they'd somehow managed to communicate _something_. It had been so long since she'd felt this exhilaration, this playfulness...it was like a breath of fresh air. And at that moment, it didn't matter what happened next or what happened when they parted ways when this moment ended. This feeling had jerked something awake inside of her and now that it was wide awake, she didn't want to let it go.

He beat her to the door, shooting her that sexy, lop-sided grin over his shoulder and whipped it open with a dramatic flourish.

"After you," he drawled lightly and that playful glint in his eye made her instantly light-headed.

"Thanks," she replied, hoping he didn't notice the breathless effect he had on her. She took that moment to do a mental fist-pump that she'd swiped on some mascara earlier before she'd parked it in front of the TV tonight. At least she wasn't completely bare-faced in front of him. That was a win in itself.

All the hairs on the back of her neck stood up when she realized he was trailing behind her into the gas station, so close she could nearly feel his breath on her skin. Oh God, was he...was he _smelling _her? From anyone else that might've been a scary invasion of privacy, stalkerish even, but from him...a jolt of heat shot downwards and landed right in between her legs. She sucked in a shaky breath and forced her feet in front of her to head deeper into the gas station.

She drifted aimlessly down one of the narrow aisles, hyper-aware that he'd steered towards the aisle next to her. When she dared a glance in that direction, she found him watching her with that sexy grin playing across his lips. Her insides melted just a little bit more at the sight and she didn't know if the smile that crept across her face was flirty or pathetic.

At this point, all that mattered was that he was still here, still grinning at her, and still possibly flirting with her, regardless of his intentions. Was it completely wrong that she'd willingly hand over her wallet now if he asked?

The sad, pretty much pathetic truth was that she wanted this moment to last for as long as humanly possible because God knew it was never going to happen again.

"Hi," his smooth voice called out to her and she couldn't stop the warmth that surged through her or the grin that slid across her lips.

"Hi," she replied back a little shyly.

He lifted his chin in greeting, his lips curling even further up into his cheeks. They continued on like that, ambling down an aisle in this gas station, grinning at each other like giddy teenagers, and another beat passed between them, like neither knew quite what to do or say next.

Suddenly, she heard some crinkling across from her and a gasp of a laugh escaped her as he held up a bag of Doritos with a wide grin.

"Lemme guess," he started easily. "You came in for some of these?"

She laughed again and shook her head, her eyes immediately flew down to the racks in front of her. Grabbing the first thing she could focus on, she held the pack of Reese's Pieces up above the top of the aisle for him to see.

"Nah," she threw back. "I'm not quite sure that would satisfy my sweet tooth. I need lots and lots of chocolate."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that."

That response took her aback for a moment. Was it just a guy thing to assume that all girls loved chocolate? But then her mind flew back to his not-so-subtle invasion of her personal space just a few moments earlier and fleetingly wondered if he'd somehow caught a hint of the chocolate and lemon pie she'd experimented with earlier in her apartment with various degrees of success.

"Or," he continued, ducking down for a moment and then shooting back up a second later with a can of Pringles in his ringed hand. "Maybe these are more your flavor?"

She chewed on her bottom lip to hide her growing smile and reached for a package of Skittles. "Nah...I'd still probably go with these."

"Okay, okay," he nodded, holding up his hands in defeat. "Fair enough."

"Well...you know all that salt isn't good for you anyways," she chided playfully and ducked down for a moment to grab a package of licorice. "So maybe you could try these instead?"

He shrugged, pulling his lips to the sides of his face. "Red Vines, huh? Not a bad choice."

"They're fat free, you know."

A low chuckle erupted from his throat and he shook his head with a flourish that was pure manly swagger. "Well, I doubt either of us really have to worry about that, darlin'."

That last sentiment should've alarmed her or at the very least finally drawn her attention to the leather vest, the tattoos, the swagger, and the confidence with more clarity. He fit the definition of bad boy to the "T" and her mother's words echoed in her head for one annoying second: _bad boys are called bad for reason._

Well, for all the mothering she'd done in the last six months, her mother could take those words of wisdom and shove them right up her ass.

"So, you won't think any less of me if I throw all the chocolate and sugar I can carry in one of those baskets and hightail outta here?" she shot back, flirty playfulness oozing from every syllable.

His grin widened even more and he tilted her head towards her as they continued they slow, coy shuffling towards the end of their respective aisles, where they'd finally meet without any barrier in between them.

"Of course I wouldn't think any less of ya," he shot back. "But right about now, I'll willin' to do whatever it takes to get you to stick around here a little longer with me."

Choosing to focus on his earnest expression rather than those words which, if she did, would reduce her into a giggling idiot, she bit down on her lip once again to keep herself in check. "You don't exactly strike me as the kinda guy who has trouble making friends."

With a hearty laugh, his warm eyes locked on her and her knees threatened to crumble underneath from the impact.

"I guess you could say that," he allowed good-naturedly.

With that last exchange, they officially came face to face without the hindrance of shelves or racks of junk food in between them. He shifted his body to face her, that gorgeous grin still etched across his features, and shoved his hands into his front pockets.

"Hi," he smiled.

She laughed and glanced down nervously at her feet for a moment. "Hi."

He suddenly thrust his right hand out to her. "My name's Jax, by the way."

"Emma," she replied, gingerly sliding her hand into his much larger one.

"Pretty name."

She blushed, chewing on her bottom lip and her heart leapt when he gestured with his head for her to follow him into the next aisle.

"So," he started leisurely. "I hope this isn't too forward or anything, and you can tell me if it is because I think we know each other well enough by now that you can do that. But I'm tryin' to figure out if I've seen you in town before...and I just can't place ya."

"I just moved here about six months ago actually."

His eyebrows flew into his forehead and then something else passed across his beautiful features that she didn't quite understand. He rubbed a hand anxiously over his mouth and cast her a sideways glance. "Six months, huh? So...what brings you to Charming then?"

What a loaded question that was and definitely not something she was going to hash out with a complete and totally hot stranger.

"I'm, uh, working at Foster's," she answered simply, unable to give him much more.

"You work for Rose, huh?"

"Yeah...well, she's my grandma, so…"

His eyebrows flew up into his forehead again and his lips curved up in an awed grin. "Rose is your grandma? Really? I remember her sayin' once that she had some grandkids, so I guess that makes sense."

"Yeah," she chuckled. "I guess it's just a perfect example of nepotism at its finest, right?"

Jax laughed and shook his head. "So where you from then?"

It was just a simple question and definitely one that shouldn't have made her heart lock up in her chest. There was inexplicable comfort in the knowledge that no one in Charming, save for Gram, knew where she was from or the real reason why she was here. No looking over her shoulder, no judgemental stares, no whispers behind her back. She could breathe here; even if moving to Charming hadn't made her problems magically disappear, they were still out of sight, out of mind. Telling him where she was from didn't mean much in the grand scheme of things, but part of her wanted to keep her little bubble from bursting just a bit longer.

But then again, the other part of her whispered conspiratorially that the man standing beside her was alarmingly attractive and unbelievably charming and all he'd done was ask her a simple question. There was no harm in answering it, right?

"I'm from Del Mar," she finally allowed. Catching the thoughtful frown that crossed his face, she jumped to explain. "It's on the coast, kinda by San Diego."

"Ah," Jax nodded with a smirk. "A SoCal girl, huh? So, what is it ,like, Surf City down there all the time or what? Everyone runnin' around in bikinis, right?"

She laughed, grateful for the levity. "No...trust me, it's nothing like Laguna Beach or anything of those," she made air quotes with her hands, "'type' of towns you're probably thinking of. Picture the smallest town you can think of and then plop it right down by the beach. That's Del Mar."

"As small as Charming?" he cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Smaller."

His eyebrows lifted with an impressed air. "Wow. And lemme guess: everybody knows everybody and everybody knows everybody's business, right?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Emma pressed an uneasy smile on her face and hoped he didn't see right through it.

"Sounds a lot like Charming. So, I guess you'll fit right in here."

"Thanks," she laughed. "I guess."

"Anytime, Em."

Her eyes shot up to meet his and she had to bite back the bitter taste in her mouth from that familiar nickname. That obviously wasn't the first time she'd been called that and it wouldn't be the last either, but that didn't change the jolt of awareness that spiked right through her. Family members, friends, ex-boyfriends had all called her that at one point or another and each more recent memory cut her right to the core. Whether it was said with disdain, disappointment, or downright disgust, there was no shortage of images that flashed across her mind just at hearing it now.

Of course, hearing it from Jax wasn't exactly a hardship either.

But was it enough to wipe away the past?

Absolutely not.

"So you work for Rose," Jax went on and she couldn't tell if it was because she'd gone off into la la land or if it was because he really wanted to keeping talking to her. "What're you doin' there? You waitressin' or..."

Again, another loaded question just like the one before it and again, another one that she didn't feel comfortable answering honestly. So, she answered with as much truth as she could give him.

"I work the late shift and then I stay later to make all the baked goods too-you know, pies, cookies, muffins, that sort of thing."

Jax stopped short, his crystal blue eyes wide and glimmering with almost stunned surprise. "Hold on a sec, do you mean to tell me that you're responsible for the banana cream pie at Foster's?"

"Well," she laughed shyly. "I didn't exactly invent it or anything, Jax."

Shaking his head incredulously, he stared back at her, looking just as mystified as before. "But you've been makin' it for the last six months though, right?"

"Yeah."

"Holy shit-that's the best pie I've ever had in my entire life. Not to mention the peanut butter's not too shabby either."

Emma chewed anxiously on the inside of her cheek, unsure of what to do with all this praise. There were never that many customers in her grandma's restaurant when she was normally working, but she'd still gradually gotten used to a little recognition. But coming from him...that was something else entirely.

"Thanks...Gram taught me everything I know about the kitchen, so I can't take all the credit," she informed him sheepishly and shifted her eyes down to the cracked tile flooring for lack of anything better to do.

"Well, all I can say is that I've definitely had some of that pie in the last six months and I'd say you deserve _all_ the credit, darlin'," he replied back with a wink.

Oh Jesus, he winked at her. He _winked_...who did that? Why, oh why, did it make her insides curl up into a tight, warm little ball? Nevermind. She already knew the answer to that particular question.

"So, I guess that explains why you're up so late," Jax replied, a light smile playing across his lips. "Must be your night off or somethin', huh?"

"Yep," she affirmed with a nod. "I can't really fall asleep before 2:00 anymore no matter what I do...how about you? What're you doing out and about so late?"

"Ah, you know," he exhaled roughly. "Just couldn't sleep, I guess."

There was something different in his voice, a sharper edge that hadn't been there before, something that caught her off guard. It was enough to hint that he wasn't quite as playful and carefree as he probably wanted her to think. That edge, that slight roughness, told her there was more going on with him than just tossing and turning. She knew all too well from experience that one sleepless night didn't bring a person to a deserted gas station at 2:45 in the morning. Insomnia reared its ugly head for much more than just a little restlessness.

"Can I ask you a question?" Jax was saying now, tilting his chin up and away from her as he spoke. "If Rose is your grandma, why are you workin' the late shift? I mean...doesn't that give you an in or somethin' to get one of the…." he trailed off for a moment, lifting up his hands to make air quotes to mimic her previous hand gesture, "'good' shifts?"

"Yeah, I guess I can see why you'd think that...like I said, nepotism, right? But I guess the simple answer is that Gram's arthritis was making it pretty hard for her to do all the baking herself and since she's been teaching me her recipes since I was, like, three and she doesn't really trust other people in her kitchen…"

"So you just stepped in, huh?" Jax grinned back at her, his eyes shining with admiration she didn't quite deserve.

Deciding that affirming his assumption wasn't really a lie, that it was more of a half-truth, she swallowed her pride and nodded sheepishly. "Something like that, yeah."

"That's pretty nice of you, Emma."

With the way he was smiling back at her, those blue eyes sparkling with equal parts playfulness and genuineness, she felt the little control of her faculties slip away from her once again. That weak-in-the-knees, breathless, giddy feeling was more than she could handle right now and she needed to grasp for some sort of control here.

"Well," she started, feeling her paths get a little sweaty as she spoke. "If you're ever out and about again late at night, feel free to stop by the restaurant whenever you want."

Part of her almost immediately regretted her words...she really hoped she didn't sound too desperate or pathetic and fleetingly wondered if maybe she'd misinterpreted this whole interaction. And did she really need to be inviting...whatever it would be with him...to her doorstep right now? But her initial fretting slipped away the moment his lips-the same ones she couldn't stop staring at-turned up in a sexy, almost suggestive grin.

"Really?"

"Yeah," she replied with an easy shrug. "I'll even hook you up with a piece of my pie-on the house."

The second those words flew out of her mouth her eyes bugged right out of her head as the double entendre echoed through her mind. A piece of her _pie_? What in hell was wrong with her? Her cheeks flamed red and she squeezed her eyes shut in a desperate attempt at momentary reprieve from the foot she'd just shoved into her mouth.

When she dared to crack an eye open at him, she found twinkling blue eyes shining back at her as his eyebrows lifted upwards with a suggestive smirk.

"On the house, huh? I might have to take you up on that."

Her shoulders were shaking with laughter now as he playfully nudged her with his elbow and it was amazing how natural this all felt. It was as if they'd known each other for years and the banter, which she'd never really had the opportunity to engage in quite like this before, was like second nature with him. There was something about him that just made her feel at ease...and for the first time in six months, since the bomb had dropped, she caught a glimmer of who she'd used to be. What it felt like to laugh, to joke around, and to just have fun again. It was beautiful.

A quick glance at the clock above the clerk's head told her they'd already been walking around in here for fifteen minutes and she was painfully aware how late it was getting. At almost 3:00 in the morning, it was really in her best interest, for sleeping purposes, that she get home, so she could crawl into bed with Oliver curled up at her feet. But, if she was being completely honest with herself, she didn't want this moment to end. She still didn't want to go home, but now her reasons looked wildly different than fifteen minutes ago.

He must have caught the direction of her gaze and blew out a deep sigh as he ran a hand over his buzzed hair. "Yeah, it's gettin' kinda late, isn't it?"

"A little, yeah."

He smiled back at her again, but this time, the smile didn't quite reach his eyes and the bright blues in them had lost some of their vibrancy. Gesturing with his head towards the check-out counter and then the licorice and box of candy still in her hands, he shot her another panty-twisting smile. "C'mon, lemme get all that for ya."

"Oh no," she immediately shook her head. "You don't have to do that."

"Of course I do. Think of it as a thank you for keepin' me company tonight."

There wasn't much she could argue about with that and felt heat flaming up in her cheeks yet again as they stepped up to the counter. She carefully set her sugar fix down in front of her and chewed shyly on the side of her bottom lip as Jax tossed a few bills down on the counter.

"I'll take this for the lady," he told the clerk before winking at Emma again. "And can I get a pack of Marlboros, too?" he waited a beat for the clerk to shrug back at him and tilted up his chin. "Thanks, man."

As the clerk rang up their items, Jax shifted his body just enough so that his jeans brushed against the side of her left hip, making her acutely aware just how thin the material of her leggings were.

"You're not gonna think less of me, are ya?" Jax smirked at her, gesturing towards the cigarette pack on the counter.

Emma just shrugged, completely powerless to stop the way her body mirrored his actions. "I'll try not to."

With a low, throaty chuckle, Jax shook his head and rubbed a hand over his head, still cutting right through her with that sexy, lop-sided smirk. "So, would maybe you want to-"

His words halted abruptly as his eyes shot up to something over her head and towards the gas station's front entrance. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion and before her brain even had a chance to catch up, the entire place erupted with ear-splitting crashes as bullets sliced through the glass windows. Strong arms shoved her protectively into the floor and she barely had time to register the hard body that collapsed on top of her with a low moan.

The ricochets exploding across the length of the store subsided not moments later, but it felt like much longer as her breath stuttered helplessly in her chest and she curled into Jax's chest for protection. It only took her brain another moment to catch up to her senses when she realized her chest was covered in something warm and wet. As if her arms had a will of their own, she gently pushed against Jax, who had slid half-way off of her and slumped into the floor, and it was then that she realized just what was coating the front of her sweatshirt. Blood.

Reacting purely on instinct, she leapt up from her spot on the floor, not giving the shards of glass cascading around her any thought, and knelt over his body to turn him towards her. Wet crimson stained the front of his white T-shirt and there was no time for shock, horror, or cries of agony for him. From what she could tell, he'd taken a bullet in his left shoulder and one in the stomach.

A split second later, she whipped her grey sweatshirt over her head and pressed it into the wound in his stomach with as much force as she could muster. While she only had basic first aid training, she knew enough to know that a gunshot wound to the stomach could be painfully fatal.

With that grim thought ricocheting through her mind, she turned frantically away from Jax, whose eyes were squeezed shut in quiet, gasping suffering, and found the clerk peeking out from behind the counter.

"Call an ambulance!" her voice rang out in a hoarse scream. "Hurry!"

Not wanting to waste another second of her attention on the clerk and resolving to trust him to do what she told him, she turned back to Jax and her heart dropped at the unfocused, stunned expression on his face, a far cry from what she'd grown accustomed to from him.

"Stay with me, Jax," she whispered, pressing more deeply into the bullet wound in his stomach with her sweatshirt and not allowing herself to think about the way his blood coated her hands or smattered red across the front of her tank top or the fact that he could die here right on the grimy tile floor of this gas station.

"Please," she pleaded, her eyes welling up with tears and prayed that she'd hear sirens soon. "Stay with me."

* * *

**A/N-Like I said, CYH isn't going anywhere, but I'm really looking forward to developing this one too. If all goes as planned, I've got about 20 chapters or so with this one and then a sequel. It answers a question I've always wondered about with the show and delving into the answer in the sequel is gonna be pretty interesting (at least for me, you know?). **

**In case you're wondering, Tara isn't going to be a major factor here and she's not going to show up with a baby Jax doesn't know about either. Jax's already had 14 months to get over the end of their relationship and while he's got some regrets, it's in the past for him now. I'm sure you guys are wondering what's up with Emma and what secrets she's carrying. You'll find out, of course, just not right away ;) Although I'd love to hear your thoughts and conspiracy theories.**

**Please let me know what you thought of this. Loved it, hated it, indifferent to it-whatever you're feeling, let me know! I'm gonna go get to work on the next update for CYH...should be up early next week.**


	2. Chapter 2

_Tuesday, 2:56 am_

Emma had no idea what she was doing, whether or not she was putting enough pressure on the bullet wound in Jax's stomach, whether or not he could even hear her, or if anything she was doing for him right now was even helping. Pure instinct and adrenaline had taken over the moment her brain caught up with what had just happened. There was no time to spare. No time to go into shock. No time to hesitate.

"Jax," she whispered as she leaned down into her hands to put more pressure into his stomach. His bloodshot, bleary blue eyes groped around aimlessly at the sound of her voice, like he couldn't quite find her in the haziness that surrounded him and when his eyes finally settled on her, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"An ambulance is on its way, okay?" Emma told him, trying to muster as much confidence and unflappability as possible. Showing even a hint of how scared she was right now would do him no good.

He nodded once and winced at the effort, squeezing his eyes in agony. Just sucking in a deep breath of air seemed like too much exertion for him and she knew he needed to hang to his strength for as long as possible.

"You have to stay awake for me, okay, Jax?

When he nodded again, his eyes fluttered shut, a weak laugh trembling from his throat. "Wow...this fuckin' sucks. This night definitely could've ended better."

"Maybe," she laughed, grateful to see that whatever loss of faculities he'd experienced in the last few minutes was starting to return. "But things could always be worse."

"Right," he chuckled hoarsely through a pained wince. "I guess I could have _three _holes in my chest. Could be shittier."

Tears sprang to her eyes again at those words and she immediately pushed those panicked feelings away; she could deal with the terrifying image underneath her fingertips later, but right now, she just needed to keep him talking to her until the ambulance arrived.

"Talk to me, Jax; tell me anything...just keep your eyes open when you do it, okay?"

"Shit," he chuckled in a rough, thick voice. "Didn't know you were so bossy. I like that."

She just shook her head, amazed that even with two bullet wounds in his chest, he was still his charming, flirtatious self. Now, it was all she could do to ignore the quiet suffering etched across his face as she leaned into his stomach with the heels of her hands.

"I'm sorry," Emma told him quietly. "I can't imagine how much this hurts, but I have to-"

"I know," Jax pinched open one eye to get a look at her. "I know...you're doin' great, Em. Just...just don't leave me, okay?"

In that split second, all the light flooded from his eyes, leaving only fear behind. They both knew, without needing to exchange a word, that if the ambulance didn't get here soon, he would bleed out right here in this gas station, regardless of what she did to keep the bleeding under control. His life was literally in her hands right now, and come hell or high water, there was no way she was leaving him.

"I'm not going anywhere, Jax," she tried to smile down at him with all the reassurance she could muster. "Keep talking, okay?"

Jax nodded and the subtle twinkle that crept into his eyes told her this was going to be interesting. "You have really pretty eyes."

The laugh choked in her throat. Despite the fact that she'd only known him for about 20 minutes, that seemed like _exactly _the type of thing he would say. Now, he was reaching up to her with blood-tinged fingertips and she shivered a little when she felt the edge of his thumb brush her cheek.

"I like your hair too," he grinned up at her.

"Are you kidding? I spent the whole day laying on the couch watching TV with my cat. I'm pretty sure my hair and everything else looks like shit right now."

"Well, I like it," he chuckled before wincing a little from the effort.

"How are you still flirting with me right now?" she shook her head at him, unable to fight the smile that curved her lips. "You're crazy."

"Can't help it, darlin'. When a beautiful girl is keepin' you from bleedin' out on the floor, you tell her exactly how you feel."

She laughed in spite of their current predicament and pushed out a shaky sigh of relief when the sounds of ambulance sirens crashed through the walls of the gas station. Her frantic eyes found the clock and she swallowed. Five minutes. He'd been lying here for five minutes. That had to put him in the window he needed to survive this. St. Thomas was only a few miles away and if the EMTs took over and got him into surgery, he could actually be okay.

A beat later, the EMTs burst through the door, skidding past all the broken glass with a stretcher in tow. Their voices called out to them and she could hear the gas station's cashier directing the EMTs towards them. Suddenly, a flurry of motion descended on them as one of the EMTs gently moved Emma aside so they could get to work on Jax. After taking an immediate inventory of his injuries, they had him loaded onto the stretcher and were headed back towards the ambulance in under a minute flat.

Her feet carried her out of the gas station, following the stretcher to make sure she could see Jax being loaded inside the ambulance with her own eyes.

"Miss?" one of the EMTs was saying to her through the fog. "Are you injured? Are you alright?"

Someone was touching her shoulder to get her attention, but she was frozen where she stood. And then she heard Jax's hoarse voice.

"Where's Em? Where is she?"

Her heart lurched in her chest at the sound of his panicked, pained deep voice and she could see him trying to frantically look around the men blocking his view of her. Then one of the EMTs was waving to her from the back of the ambulance and she felt a pair of hands closing around her arms to help lift her inside. Jax was reaching out to her as she settled in next to him and she didn't hesitate to take his hand, squeezing it to offer him as much reassurance as she could. He seemed to relax more now that she was hovering above him and she gently pushed against his shoulder to coax him into settling back against the stretcher.

"I'm here," she whispered to him. "I'm not leaving."

Jax pressed a grim smile onto his face and his Adam's apple bobbed as the EMTs worked on him, outfitting him with an IV and a heart monitor, settling a compression blanket over him to keep him warm, and fitting an airway tube in his nostrils.

"Can you tell me your name, sir?" one of the EMTs was saying to Jax now, leaning down over him to listen to his breathing.

"Jax Teller," he replied weakly and Emma squeezed his hand in an attempt to tell him how well he was doing, how strong he was being, in spite of the possibly hopeless situation he found himself in now.

"How old are you, Mr. Teller?"

Jax winced, shifting uncomfortably on the gurney, and Emma could see the struggle on his face just to get the words out.

"31."

"Good, that's really good, Mr. Teller," the EMT nodded and then fired off a series of questions, most likely to assess Jax's level of responsiveness and to keep him alert.

Jax answered all the questions better than she might've expected, starting with confirming where he was, what had happened, and where he was going. The entire time, his eyes flicked back and forth between the EMT talking to him and Emma. Every time their eyes locked, a little bit of warmth crept across his face, like he was trying to be strong for her and reassure her that everything was going to be alright.

When the ambulance sped into the ER driveway, everything around Emma seemed to fly by in a flurry of voices and frantic movements as Jax was rushed inside. Her feet, as if they had a mind of their own, bolted out from under her to scramble after the gurney until a nurse grabbed her arm to keep her from following Jax all the way down the end of the hall to an elevator.

"Where are they taking him?" Emma asked wildly, her eyes frantically searching for one last glimpse of him before the elevator doors closed. There wasn't time to think about the fact that the very last image she might have of Jax now would be him on a gurney, his eyes glazed over from shock and agony, covered in his own blood.

"They're bringing him to surgery," the nurse told her a calm voice. "A surgeon is already scrubbed in and waiting for him; he won't have to wait as soon as they get him into the OR."

Emma nodded numbly, unable to process that she might have seen him for the last time.

"Miss?" the nurse's voice called out to her and gripped her arm more tightly to get her attention. "Let me bring you a pair of scrubs so you can change into something clean and then I'll take you to the waiting room."

She willed her feet to move, but their glued to the ground. There was no moving even if she tried. All she could do was stare helplessly at the elevator doors.

"Miss?"

Emma glanced down at her body and couldn't hold back the sob that erupted from her throat at the sight of her hands, arms, and tank top stained red with Jax's blood. Then the nurse's hands were on her shoulders to guide her down another hallway away from where Jax had disappeared.

"I...can't leave him," she whispered. "I promised him I wouldn't. I can't leave."

"Let's get you changed," the nurse was saying to her now with a sympathetic smile. "And then I'll see what I can find out about your boyfriend. Is there anyone I can call for you? Family? Friends?"

"I don't...I don't know," Emma stammered back, but then the nurse's words caught up with her. "Wait, he's not my-"

The nurse just nodded, effectively cutting her off and flashed her a knowing grin that vanished from her face just as quickly as it appeared. "No problem; you don't have to tell me your business. Does he have any people I can call for you?"

If there was ever a moment tonight where Emma felt completely useless, it was right about then. She didn't know anything about Jax other than his name, that he smoked Marlboros, and was an expert flirt. The only reason she'd learned his last name and his age was because he'd given that information to the EMT on their Fast and the Furious-esque ride in the ambulance. There was literally nothing of use she could give this nurse right now other than his name. Six months ago, she'd thought she'd already scraped the barrel of hopeless situations where her powerless hands were tied, but no…_this _was absolute rock bottom.

Still, she had to pull it together enough now to do what little she could do to help Jax. There had to be someone-family, friends, a girlfriend, or whoever-that needed to know what had happened to him tonight and there wasn't much else she could do beyond that.

"I'm not sure," Emma pushed out in a thick voice. "His name's Jax Teller. I don't know much else."

That seemed to be all the information the nurse needed as a look of recognition flicked across her face and then she was nodding, still gently pushing Emma into an empty bathroom in the hallway and setting a fresh pair of scrubs in her hands.

"You can clean yourself up in here," the nurse told her as she opened the door and flicked on the light. "There's a bag in there for your clothes; take your time, sweetheart. I'll make some calls for you and see if there's any word from the OR."

Nodding numbly, she stared at the closed bathroom door for a moment before daring to look in the mirror. One glance at the splattered blood caking her hands, arms, and tank top was all she needed to spring into a flash of dazed movements to scrub all of Jax's blood off her arms until her own skin turned red. She just couldn't seem to scrub hard enough or fast enough as she desperately tried to keep her emotions at bay. Tears were already stinging her eyes by the time she flung the soiled tank top over her head and whipped the scrub top on.

Furiously rubbing at her face to eradicate any trace of the tears that had slipped down her cheeks, she sucked in a deep breath to grasp for strength and then ventured back out into the hallway. The nurse she had spoken with earlier was nowhere to be found and so she was left to her own devices to find some sort of waiting room. Once she had sunken into the nearest chair she could find, images she'd just about sell her soul to forget flashed across her mind: Jax staring up at her dazed, in shock, her arms soaked in his blood, her grey sweatshirt that grew more crimson with every second, the agony written across Jax's handsome face...it was all too much to deal with at once.

The cold reality settled over her for only a moment and then she roughly pushed it away as quickly as it came. She couldn't allow herself to think about what has happening in the OR right now or if Jax was going to live long enough to see morning. And she had no idea how long she sat in that chair in the waiting room until the doors burst open and a hurricane of movement and loud voices blew into the ER.

Two grizzly-looking men in identical leather vests as the one she'd seen on Jax were interrogating the poor nurses at the front desk while an older woman in a leather jacket, tight jeans, heels, and harsh highlights swung frantic, black-rimmed eyes around the ER's hallways and it was clear who she was searching for.

She couldn't really make out all the questions they shot off to the nurses, but she still didn't miss the hard, lethally dangerous air that these people had brought with them into the room. There was something about their dark expressions and domineering presence that told her these people were used to getting exactly what they wanted when they wanted. Then, Emma froze in her chair like a deer caught in headlights as one of the nurses gestured towards her saying, "that's the girl he was brought in with."

Now, the three leather-clad figures were headed right towards her and she couldn't help the way she sunk a little bit lower in her chair, as if that would somehow shield her from what was coming her way.

The taller of the two men ran a hand over his cropped, salt and pepper hair, and smiled grimly towards her before folding himself down to her level. "Hey there; you're Emma, right?"

It didn't help that the other shorter, chubbier guy and the woman with the dark, eagle-eyes seemed to be hovering over her like they were worried she might bolt, but somehow, she still managed to nod back at the menacing figure squatting in front of her.

"Jesus, Clay, you're scaring the poor girl," the woman admonished impatiently.

The man who'd spoken held up a hand to keep her quiet, and then shot Emma a quick grin that she assumed had every intention of reassuring her, but in fact, had the exact opposite effect.

"You were with my son when he got shot, right?" he asked her in a firm, almost demanding voice, which, given the situation, seemed more than a little unnecessary.

His black eyes seemed to press her even deeper into the seat as they appraised her, starting with the hint of crimson still visible on her hands and arms. Emma nodded back almost immediately, sensing that this man, Jax's father, and the woman, who was most likely Jax's mother, were not going to wait much longer for their answers.

Luckily, the nurse who'd taken her to the bathroom earlier materialized at their sides and pulled Emma right out of the hot seat. It was as if everything else just slipped away and all attention had been reverted to the nurse. Even as the nurse told them basically what they already knew-that Jax was still in surgery and there really were no new updates on his status-Emma could feel the woman's heavily-lined eyes studying her like _she _was the one somehow responsible for all this.

Unfortunately, that brief reprieve was just that and Emma suddenly found herself once again under the microscope.

The tall, weathered man in the leather vest gestured towards himself. "Let's start this over, shall we? My name's Clay Morrow. You were brought in with my son, Jax?"

It wasn't so much a question as a statement of fact and Emma shivered when his heavy, ringed hand settled over her shoulder and then he nodded to the other two looming figures on either side of him. "That's Gemma, Jax's mom. And that's Bobby. Now, that nurse over there told us that you were the one keepin' Jax from bleedin' out in that gas station and if he makes it through the night, I think it's safe to say that's because of you."

There wasn't anything she could say...she really hadn't done anything that extraordinary. Anyone would've done the same thing, but here in the presence of these leather-clad, ominous figures, the words just wouldn't come out. It was still a shock enough to process that this man and that woman were somehow Jax's parents.

"Now," Clay continued, further cementing his hand into her shoulder as if to remind her that she wasn't going anywhere until he got what he needed. "This is very important. I need you to tell me everything you remember. Any detail you can think of."

This was the part where she needed to figure out how to finally force her voice into proper functioning.

"I didn't…" she stammered shakily, feeling vulnerable and completely boxed in. "I didn't see anything."

"Where were you when the shooting started?"

She squeezed her eyes shut to will herself to remember and then the image flashed in front of her eyes. "We were standing by the cashier. Then everything just exploded...Jax pushed me to the floor."

"So you didn't see a car? A shooter? Anything?" Clay's black eyes were assessing her with cold calculation.

Emma shook her head and swallowed tightly. "I don't know...I think I saw a black car by the windows, but I'm not sure."

Is that really what she saw? She wasn't even sure anymore...her first instinct had just been to get to Jax and everything else was shoved to the wayside.

"I honestly don't know," she went on aimlessly, desperate to give them what they needed so they would leave her alone. "The cashier called an ambulance and I was trying to stop the bleeding...I think it was a car, but it was gone before I even really knew what was going on."

Clay stepped back, releasing her shoulder in one swift movement, but before she had a chance to relax, Jax's mother's hard voice called out to her.

"Did you know Jax before tonight?"

Emma shook her head immediately, despite the fact that this woman's dark, suspicious eyes had pinned her where she sat.

"So why were you in the ambulance with him then?"

It was a fair enough question. Physically, she was completely fine, even if her mental state right now was a little up in the air. There was no logical or legitimate reason why she'd needed to ride to St. Thomas with him other than because he'd asked for her. But, the longer this woman stared her down, the more she realized that she probably wouldn't take too kindly to the truth.

"The EMTs pulled me in there with him," Emma explained quickly. It wasn't necessarily a lie, but it was the most information she felt she could give, especially since Jax's mother had narrowed her black-rimmed eyes at her.

That seemed to be enough to appease Gemma and something softer, almost warmer, shifted in her eyes. "Look, I'm sorry about the interrogation here, but thank you for tellin' us all that. And thank you for doin' what you did tonight."

For the first time since this woman had entered her orbit, Emma finally saw a flicker of genuineness and it was also the first time since these imposing figures had descended on her that she actually started to relax.

And it was also then that she caught her grandmother rushing towards them out of the corner of her eye.

"Emma!" her grandmother called out as she skidded over, her eyes darting suspiciously between her granddaughter and the leather vests talking to her.

Given the commotion, she didn't pay much attention to the way Gemma's eyes seemed to narrow into dangerous slits, even as she moved out of the way so her grandmother could pull her into her arms.

"Gram...how did you-"

"The ER called me," Gram interjected and kissed her cheek. "What in God's name happened, Emma? Are you alright? Are you hurt? Why are you wearing-"

"I'm okay, Gram," Emma laughed hoarsely and this time, she didn't miss the way Gemma's eyes darkened at her use of the word, 'Gram'.

And because the absolute last thing she wanted right now was to have this frightening woman catch her watching her, Emma quickly averted her eyes elsewhere and focused on her grandmother, who was on the hunt for some unseen injury.

"Gram, I'm okay...really, I'm fine."

"Alright," Gram eyed her warily and then glanced over her shoulder. "If you're sure...I think I need to get you home now."

"Wait, no, Gram, I can't…" Emma trailed off, suddenly aware that not only were all three pairs of eyes fixed on her in various stages of disbelief, but more men in leather cuts were headed right for them.

"Oh _good_," Gram muttered under her breath. "The gang's all here."

Even if there'd been time to ask her grandmother just what that meant, there was no way she was stupid enough to ask that question in front of all these people, who were either Jax's friends or his family. Everything about the men she saw before her, from the way they held themselves to the way they formed an impenetrable huddle in the hallway, was wildly different from the inviting, charming demeanor she'd found in Jax and it was difficult to reconcile the connection between them other than the similar leather.

_You don't know him, _she had to remind herself. _Twenty minutes isn't enough to know anything about him other than his name and that he got shot. That's it. _

And yet, wild horses couldn't have dragged her out of this emergency room. Stupid, unfounded loyalty to a man she didn't really know was the only thing keeping her from bolting right out of her chair and dragging Gram right behind her. Still...she wasn't moving, at least not until she knew whether Jax was going to live or die.

"I need to get you home," Gram was muttering to her now, keeping one eye trained on the leather a few feet away from them. "And then, you need to call your brother."

Emma groaned and scrubbed her face with both hands. "What...you called him? Why?"

Gram just shrugged as she dropped into the chair next to her. "I didn't know what was going on; figured the only other family you still speak to would want to know that you'd been in a drive-by shooting."

The flippant, almost non-committal tone was something she hadn't seen from her Gram in a very long time. It was clear this whole business-and however Jax was connected to it all-ran deeper than just a drive-by shooting. Jesus, since when was just a regular drive-by shooting no big deal? And where the hell were the cops? Why was her only real interrogation carried out by a hardened man in a leather vest? All of this was just so...surreal and now, as her eyes fell on her grandmother, sitting stiffly next to her, the reality of what she'd experienced was slowly starting to creep up on her.

"We can pick your car up after you've gotten some sleep," Gram was leaning into her now to whisper in her ear. "But we should really leave."

"Gram, I just have to see if he's gonna make it, okay? I can't leave…" she trailed off as her eyes flicked over to the leathered figures in the hallway and realized that Gemma had angled her body just enough to eavesdrop on their entire exchange.

Eventually, all the players seemed to settle into their various positions in the hallway as they waited for different nurses to check in to tell them what they already knew: Jax was still in surgery and in various states of stability. Touch and go, one nurse had told them, and every time a nurse stepped into the hallway, Emma's heart sank deeper and deeper into the pit of her stomach.

Finally, nearly three hours after Jax had initially been taken up to the OR, a white coat finally appeared in the hallway. Emma jerked awake at the sudden movement and it seemed like everyone jumped to their feet at once. Since she wasn't family and really had no right to be there, all she could really do was remain where she was and listen.

"Jax Teller's family and friends?" the doctor asked the crowd, pausing long enough to get the confirmation she needed. "He's stable and in recovery; now, he's still in critical condition-we needed to do a transfusion and he'll most likely be unconscious for awhile as his body recovers from the shock, but he was extremely lucky."

Emma fell back against her chair as the crowd in front of her released a sigh of relief and even Gram put her hand over her heart in a silent prayer of thanks.

"The bullet in his abdomen missed major organs, major arteries," the doctor continued. "Luckily, his ruptured blood vessels had already begun to close and clot when he was brought in. Sometimes, in cases like these, blood loss can be more fatal than any other damage from the bullet, but I think his treatment at the scene was critical to his survival."

"So, he's gonna make it?" Gemma's stricken, disbelieving voice could be heard loudest above the others.

"He'll make it through the night, yes," the doctor nodded with a tired smile.

Gram was shaking her shoulders before the doctor even finished that sentence to yank her from her chair.

"You heard that now, Emma? He's gonna be alright," Gram was whispering in her ear. "Now we need to get the hell out of here. Besides, your brother's already probably halfway to Charming by now."

* * *

_Tuesday, 10:37 am_

Everything hurt. Everything felt heavy and weak. And it felt like every single cell in his body was on fire. Turning his head to the side was pure agony and for a moment, he wondered if the tendons in his neck would snap from the effort. There was a buzzing surrounding him, but he couldn't tell if it was coming from inside his head or otherwise. Then, something warm was squeezing his hand and...was that a voice? It was hard to tell which end was even fucking up in the haziness.

All he wanted right now was just to be able to force his eyes open.

After what seemed like hours of willing his eyes to follow his command, his eyelids finally fluttered open. Too bad there was so much fucking cloudiness in his head, he couldn't make out any of the figures surrounding him. Shit, how many were there? Three, four...or was he seeing double? At this point, any of those options were possible.

"He's waking up!" a familiar voice called out in the distance. "Get that nurse...now!"

There was more motion around him now, more noise-almost like a chair scraping the floor and then shuffling as more warmth touched his cheek, his forehead, and then his arm. Eventually, the cloudiness in his vision began to slip away and the familiar faces peering down over him began to take shape.

"Jax...can you hear me, baby?" his mother's voice called out to him and he could almost completely make out her features.

"Fuck," he groaned, wincing even as his vision began to clear. "Yeah, Ma, I hear ya."

Gemma blew out a deep sigh of relief and then he felt her fingertips brushing his forehead. "Hey, baby. It's good to see your eyes open. How do you feel?"

"Like I got shot," Jax managed to laugh, despite the pain the ricocheted off of his chest.

That effort sent a round of chuckles around the small space and Jax thought he recognized Clay's low rumble to the side.

"There he is," Clay's voice surrounded him now. "You had us pretty worried there, son."

"Yeah, well," Jax replied in a rough, gravelly voice that was foreign to him. "I didn't survive 14 months in Stockton just to bite it on a gas station floor."

"That's right, baby," Gemma nodded, pride edging into her voice and reluctantly moved aside as a nurse hovered over him to check his vitals. "Everyone's outside waitin' to see you, Jax-"

"Two visitors at a time," the nurse told her in an exasperated voice. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

Gemma's hands lifted in the air and she just shrugged her shoulders. "What? We got a big family."

The nurse just huffed a little as she reached around Jax to readjust the airway tube in his nose. It was obvious that this nurse was getting more than frustrated with his mother, but then again, this was really nothing new. His mother was the most frustrating person he'd ever met in his life, even if she had good intentions most of the time.

"Where's Abel? He alright?" he croaked out; even if he knew his son was nowhere near the hospital right now, he still needed to hear that everything was okay.

"He's fine, baby," Gemma told him soothingly and put her hand on his cheek. "He's with Lyla and the kids. Do you want me to bring him by later?"

Jax immediately shook his head no, despite the shockwaves of pain the movement sent down his chest and into his stomach. Luckily for him, Gemma seemed to be able to read his thoughts and nodded, understanding that he wouldn't want his son to see him like this, strapped to a hospital bed, weak and barely able to breathe on his own.

When the nurse left, Clay glanced at Gemma and gestured towards the door with his head. His mother and his step-father stared at each other for a moment as silent communication passed between them and a heartbeat later, Gemma rose up from his bedside and shuffled to the door to let Opie pass through.

"Brother," Opie breathed out a sigh as he crossed his arms over his chest at the foot of Jax's bed. "It's good to see you."

"You too, bro," Jax pressed a forced smile onto his face and nodded to Clay. "This better be the part where you assholes tell me what the hell happened."

Clay chuckled and shook his head. "Trust me, we're workin' on it, Jax. Unser and Juice are workin' on that surveillance tape from the gas station to see if they can get a visual on the car and the drivers. That girl didn't see anything, so that was a dead end, but we'll get to the bottom of it, son. Whoever's responsible for this won't go unpunished for long."

Jax bristled at Clay's mention of 'that girl' and he swallowed at the memory of Emma's sweet, scared face hovering over him, keeping him alive, and trying to be strong enough for the both of them. "She alright?"

"She wasn't hurt or anything," Clay told him, surprise creeping into his eyes that Jax seemed to care enough about someone who should be inconsequential to stall their present conversation. "Rose picked her up a few hours ago."

For the time being, that was the most he could allow himself to think about her. Emma was alright, with her grandmother, and better off if Clay deemed her unimportant now. Too many people had already been caught in the club's crosshairs and he didn't want to be responsible for adding one more.

"So, who was it? The Russians?" Jax asked grimly.

"That's what makes the most sense," Opie replied with a tight nod. "Retaliation for what went down two weeks ago at the wedding."

"But we don't act on this shit until we know for sure and until you get your ass out of this hospital bed, alright?" Clay informed him at his side.

Jax knew he should be grateful that not only was his club working overtime to figure out who was responsible for the two bullets in his chest, but that they were all gunning for retribution. There was just nothing left in him to match those feelings. Maybe he would feel differently when he was out of this hospital bed and back on his feet, but he had a sinking feeling that the disillusionment and the weariness that had plagued him for the last 14 and a half months had only lodged themselves more deeply into his mind.

He should want their heads-be it Russian or otherwise-he should want to make them pay for nearly taking his life right out from under him, especially through a cheap shot like a drive-by shooting. But now he was just numb to everything around him. Now, he just wanted to close his eyes and forget any of this shit had ever happened.

Except for Emma. He didn't want to forget her.

And while, in reality, all he knew was the twenty minutes they'd spent talking and walking around that gas station before all hell had broken loose, it was enough to know that in that twenty minutes, he'd felt more relaxed, more at peace even, than he'd had in a very long time. Maybe even before Abel was born.

The whole thing, starting with the fact that he had no interest in retribution, was completely crazy. It was crazy, but he was starting to realize that those feelings might not go away anytime soon. Eventually, he was going to have to figure out how to reconcile the fact that the last thing he wanted to do right now was sit at the Redwood and plot revenge.

* * *

_Two weeks later, 9:30 pm_

Jax shifted the sling around his right arm, careful not to draw too much attention to his discomfort, and tapped some of the ash from his cigarette onto the ashtray in front of him. It shouldn't have been a surprise to him that Clay would call church not even two hours after his release from St. Thomas, but a day or two, or even a fucking breather, would've been nice. But it was apparent that Clay was hell-bent on resolving the drive-by, regardless of the fact that any action they took had the potential to ignite war or the fact that they also had the Mexican cartel breathing down their necks now.

_Who cares though, right? _Jax thought to himself bitterly as Clay pounded the gavel at the head of the table. _Nobody's agenda matters but his. _

He took another drag from his cigarette in a vain attempt at keeping himself in check and effectively threw his doctor's instructions for his health out the window. Smoking, apparently, was a big no-no for gunshot victims, but he was just going to have to forego that for the time being. The few options he had to settle himself down didn't really appeal to him anymore, at least not in the long run, and so, this was about all he had left.

"First things first," Clay barked out. "We finally got our VP back at the table," he paused long enough for the whoops and cheers to subside, "so that means we gotta get to business here. With the surveillance tapes and the plates on the car, all signs point to the Russians on this one."

"So how we gonna do this then?" Tig asked from his side of the table, cracking his knuckles in anticipation.

"I think it's gotta be quick," Piney reasoned. "No fuckin' around; just get in and get out."

"I don't know if that's really the way we should be goin' about this," Clay retorted and clamped his lips around his cigar. "They purposefully used a car they knew could be traced back to them and they left our VP to bleed out on the floor. They want a war; maybe we give it to them."

Jax exhaled a trail of smoke through his nostrils and kept his eyes locked on the table in front of him. This was exactly what he'd expected, and he took a moment to silently berate himself for ever hoping this would've played out differently. Against his better judgment, his eyes flicked across the table to Opie's solemn, thoughtful eyes looking right back at him. They stared at each other for one long moment and then Jax's eyes flashed back to the head of the table.

"What do you think, VP?" Clay was asking him now. "You've been on the receiving end of their Russian kindness twice. How do you wanna handle this?"

He really only had two options here: he could tow the party line and tell everyone what Clay wanted them to hear or he could be honest. Clay, Piney, hell even JT before he died, had always harped that the Redwood needed to be the one place where brothers didn't keep shit from each other, where they didn't lie to each other, and where everything was literally and figuratively laid out on the table.

Clay had violated that sanctity when he'd outright lied to Jax's face and promised his best friend's safety, leaving Donna dead in the street instead. But he'd be damned if he was going to sit here and lie through his teeth. No...from here on out, he was going to be better than Clay.

And so, he chose his words carefully and precisely as he gave them his answer: "I don't know, brothers. Don't you think there's already been enough bloodshed? We're just lookin' at one month outta Stockton, two weeks since the shooting...I don't know what the right answer is, but I don't war is it."

"What you gettin' at, Jax?" Bobby shifted in his chair to get a closer look at him.

Jax just shrugged and took another drag from his cigarette. "The way I see it, the Russians have already gotten to me twice and I'm not so sure I feel like giving them another opportunity to finish the job. We go to war with them, we all know what this is gonna look like-just one fuckin' retaliation after another until we got nothin' left. And what about the cartel? Does that just get shoved aside now? We all know we can't exactly do that either, so as far as I'm concerned, I think we're better off lettin' this shit go. If we don't move on the Russians, yeah, they'll think they won, but then there won't be anymore bodies piling up at our doorstep either. We've got bigger problems right now than the Russians runnin' a drive-by."

The heavy silence settled over the Redwood as his words hung in the air. Some of his brothers, like Opie and Chibs, were regarding him with interest and a new understanding, while others, namely Tig and Clay, stared at him like he'd just sprouted a second head. Still, when the vote went around, the only other dissenting vote in Jax's corner was Opie. Not like he was all that surprised by the end result.

And as the rest of the club shuffled out of church, there was little surprise when Clay gestured with his head towards his empty seat, signalling that he needed to stay. When Jax was settled back into his seat, he scrubbed a hand over his face, already knowing what was coming.

"You wanna explain what the hell that was?" Clay's quiet, unmistakably menacing voice called out to him in the silence.

"Nothin' to explain."

Clay snarled back at him and jabbed a finger in his direction. "Bullshit, Jax. You're a little shaken up by all the shit that's gone down, I get that. If I had two holes in my chest, I think I'd be more than a little fuckin' mixed up too. But you gotta straighten that shit out, Jax, and you'd better do it soon."

"Look, Clay," Jax just shook his head, blowing out a trail of smoke through his nostrils. "I know you're pissed about the vote-"

"Damn fucking right I'm pissed about the vote," Clay bit out. "What the hell is up your ass? Nobody but Ope was gonna ever gonna switch sides on this one, so what was the goddamn point in throwing all that shit out there, huh? I don't think I should have to remind you that you're VP-_you _wanted that, _you _pushed for it when Piney had to step down, and now you're pushing back at the responsibility of the job."

"So, what? I'm just supposed to roll over? Do whatever you want?"

Clay's eyebrows rose into his weathered forehead. "When shit's important, yeah, I expect you to have my back. I expect you to act in the best interest of this club and not go runnin' your mouth at the table about shit you don't know anything about. You've been outta commission for the last two weeks and there's been lots of moving parts on the table."

A cold shiver ran down Jax's spine and he felt his lips curling back over his teeth as his fists clenched into tight balls on top of the table. "Why the hell did we vote then?"

"Look, Jax, I just needed to move the vote forward, that's all. As soon as I have everything figured out, I'll bring you up so speed and then-"

"Right," Jax spat. "Like gettin' the club in bed with the cartel? You know, I think you're pissed about the vote because you know I'm right; you just didn't want the rest of the club to know it. But you don't really give a shit, do you?"

"That's uncalled for, son, and you know it. I get what you're feelin' right now, I really do, but that doesn't change the fact that when it's time for us to take care of the Russians, you need to fall in line and do your fuckin' job."

Jax nodded angrily, feeling his hands trembling at his sides as he pushed out of the chair. "You're right; I'll fall in line and deal with the Russians. The club voted it through, so that's what I'm gonna do. But if this goes south, Clay, that blood's on _your _hands, not mine."

With that, he mashed his spent cigarette into the tray and stalked out of the chapel. Brushing past the croweater that tried to wrap her arms around his neck, he stepped right through the celebration that was already in full swing. It didn't matter that this party was largely in his honor, to celebrate his health and release from the hospital.

_Right, _he thought irritably, _someone comes home from the hospital from a drive-by shooting. _Now _we can fucking party._

By the time he was standing in front of his truck, he nearly kicked the tire in pent-up frustration. He'd give anything right now to just hop on his bike and speed through the streets, feel the wind on his face and leave all this behind for a little while. But he couldn't do that because his arm was in a sling and he had a sneaking suspicion that sitting on a bike right now wouldn't do the dull ache in his abdomen any favors.

Faint footsteps behind him made him glance over his shoulder to see Opie steadily approaching him with his hands shoved deep into his front pockets.

"Clay pissed about how the vote went down?" Opie's quiet voice called out to him.

Jax shrugged his good shoulder and readjusted the sling around his back one. "Somethin' like that."

"Yeah, well, you spoke your peace. That's what you're supposed to do at the Redwood, right?"

Yeah, that was exactly what you were supposed to do and that was the problem nagging at him right now. It had been way too long since Clay had even remotely appeared to give two shits about things like rules, regulations, and generally, how the club was supposed to be run. At some point, he'd begun acting like the club belonged to him and him alone, with little regard for all the other members.

And sooner or later, all of Clay's machinations on the side and all his selfish motivations were going to blow back on the club.

"You alright, brother?" Opie was calling out to him again.

Jax's head snapped up and he forced a grim smile on his face for his best friend's benefit. "Yeah, no worries, Ope. I'm just gonna go for a drive and then head home."

Opie studied him carefully for a few moments and then just nodded, pulling the driver's side door of his truck open for him. "Alright, if you say so."

He knew he couldn't spend too much more time next to Opie right now or he'd let all the rage, frustration, and disappointment spew right out before he could stop himself. So, he hopped into his truck with as much bravado as he could muster in spite of his injuries and got himself out of T-M's parking lot without looking back. Even if Ope was there, the one person in the clubhouse he knew would always have his back, he just couldn't bring himself to stay there tonight.

The thought of having to sit in the clubhouse, to have to put on the facade that everything was fine, that he was fine, just didn't sit well with him. In fact, he could feel bile burning in his throat just at the thought of having to sit next to Clay at the bar, of having a drink with him, of having to act like they were good when they weren't. Nothing, save for his friendship with Ope, felt good about this anymore.

He'd already almost given his life for the club twice now and what was expected of him in return? More blood, more bullets, and more bodies. More calls for retribution and revenge. More orders to fall in line and do his job.

If he was being completely honest with himself, he was beginning to wonder just how much power he even really held as VP. On reflex, he glanced down at his leather kutte and his eyes grazed along the various patches he stitched into the leather himself with pride. Vice President. Men of Mayhem. Sons of Anarchy. Part of him wondered what they even meant anymore. They sure as hell didn't mean what the First 9 had intended when the club was first founded in the 70s.

Only one month out of Stockton for the club and he'd spent half of it in the ICU at St. Thomas.

Two weeks ago, he'd would've died on a gas station floor if not for the intervention of a sweet, beautiful girl who he'd had no business even talking to in the first place. And now, not even three hours out of the hospital, the club was already asking him to put his life on the line yet again.

This was all just bullshit and he didn't know how much longer he'd be able to just fall in line.

So, really, it shouldn't have been any surprise to him that he'd end up where he did. Driving around aimlessly had brought him right to the one place he knew he shouldn't be. But still, like a moth to the flame, here he was, parked right outside Foster's Diner.

He had no business invading her life, even if it was just to take her up on the offer she'd made him right before the shit hit the fan. She was better off never seeing or speaking to him again. But yet, he couldn't bring himself to leave.

What he needed right now wasn't anything that could be found in the clubhouse. There was no peace for him there tonight. No rest. No comfort in a place that had once been his sanctuary from the outside world. Now, he found himself running away from the one place that had always felt like home, from the one place that had always represented everything he'd loved about his life.

Instead, he found himself here in this parking lot, peering desperately into the windows. A beat later, Emma materialized from the kitchen with a plate in each hand. Her caramel hair was pulled back into a low bun with her bangs brushing her eyebrows and his lips curved into a smile when she blew them out of her way as she set the plates down in front of her customers. He'd seen her do enough time-and each time had drawn his attention right to her lips-that it almost seemed familiar now.

Shaking his head at himself, he knew how ridiculous he was being. He didn't know this girl anymore than she knew him. All he really knew about her was the little bit she'd given him during that short time at the gas station, so really, there was no legitimate reason why he was here right now.

He could lie and say it was just because he wanted to thank her for saving his life. While that might have been true, it wasn't the real reason why his truck was idling outside Foster's Diner right now. There was something about this girl that just drew him in. Something that was making him open the driver's side door and step out onto the parking lot. Something that had made him feel at ease, relaxed...and at peace for longer than he cared to admit.

And it was that last thought that pushed him forward.

* * *

**A/N-First of all, thanks to everyone who reviewed/alerted/favorited the first chapter and for being patient with me for the wait for this one. I was a little stuck at getting this one started because it didn't really have the same interactions between Jax and Emma as the first chapter did (thanks to alistenrude for giving this a look and assuring me that it didn't suck!). It was really just about laying some more foundation for this story, particularly Jax's doubts about the club and the way Clay is running it as well as establishing Gemma and Rose, Emma's grandma, in this story. Hopefully, you were able to tell that the two don't necessarily like each other and that the Gemma in this story will be very different to how she is in my other series. **

**The next chapter will see Jax and Emma's 'reunion' after the shooting and I'm really looking forward to getting back to their interactions. Please let me know what you thought of this-loved it, hated it, whatever, I'd love to hear your thoughts and predications. Thanks!**


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